Safe Harbor
by untertasse
Summary: A son, a brother, a soldier. When war changes him, can he still stand strong for his family? Sometimes your greatest foe needs to be fought with the mind. Dedicated to all the troops and veterans serving our country, especially those with the invisible scars. Rated for language and strong themes. AH/AU
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, all character rights belong to S. Meyer. I am also not a doctor or trained in any medical capacity, if there are errors, my apologies.

* * *

Let this lighthouse be a beacon through the darkness  
Reminding and assuring with its brightness  
A safe harbor has been reached."

_-Children's Memorial at Edgartown Lighthouse_

* * *

_The water was a clear blue and sparkling in the early sunlight. Its brilliance was almost blinding, but he couldn't bring himself to shade his eyes against its beauty. It had been so long since he had seen this view he just wanted to absorb it as long as he could. Before he had to go back to watching waves of sand instead of waves of water._

_The boat shifted at someone's approach from behind him, and he tensed until he felt the soft arm curl around his lower back and the fair hair come to rest at his shoulder. He looked down smilingly at the petite woman next to him as she sensibly shaded her eyes from the glare._

_"You're up early," Charlotte murmured as he shifted to wrap an arm around her affectionately._

_"I only need about 4 hours of sleep now, Char-doll," he replied._

_Charlotte made a small noise of disgust and snuggled deeper into his side. "That would be handy. I feel like I could use about 20 but I only get about 4." But her complaint was half-hearted as he heard the happiness underlying the words. He could see her hand absently stroking the swell of her stomach as they savored the view._

_"Since you're up I'm going to put the coffee on," he excused himself. He stealthily went below deck to the small galley, and prepped the coffee pot, pointedly ignoring the large lump tucked under the bedding in the bunk next to the sink. He quietly washed mugs from the previous night and laid them out on the counter, prepping them with sugar and laying out spoons. As the aroma of the brew started to permeate the air there was a low groan from under the covers._

_"Goddammit Lieutenant, why the hell are you still on Afghani time over here?"_

_The complaint only made him smile as the bedding shifted to reveal his brother Peter._

_"You better start learning to watch your mouth, bro. Or Junior's first word is going to be 'damn' and Charlotte's going throw you out on your rear."_

_"Don't I know it," Peter mumbled as he scrubbed a hand over his face. "Hey, any chance one of them is for me?"_

_"Sure thing, man."_

_The stream of brew had lessened to a sporadic drip and he grabbed the handle of the carafe to pour the coffee into the prepared mugs. But, as the liquid flowed out it became thick and dark red, hurriedly filling the cups and spilling over onto the countertop, running vibrant red trails down the surface of the galley. He dropped the handle in alarm and the carafe shattered against the floor, his arms crossing in front of his face as the blood and glass flew up to meet him. Then the piercing sound of Charlotte's scream filled the air._

_. . . . ._

He awoke with a start. He was covered in a fine sheen of perspiration that made the sheet stick uncomfortably against his legs, and his lungs were burning as he took shallow gasps of air. His room was dark with only the ambient light filtering into his room, and the steady hum of the air conditioner invading his ears.  
Reaching over he grabbed his cell phone off the side table and checked the time.

_4:12 am_

Scrubbing his face with his hand he debated whether he would be able to fall back asleep again, but then the fingers of white heat started to snake up his spine and he knew his chance of rest for tonight was over. He got out of bed and gingerly stretched before walking stiffly to the bathroom and snapping on the light. The harsh fluorescent blinded him momentarily and he stared into the mirror as his reflection slowly returned before shifting it open to retrieve his medication. Swallowing down the pills with tap water he then moved onto his toothbrush, and after setting that aside prepped his shave kit. The steam from the sink billowed up and spread a haze on the mirror as he maneuvered the razor over and around the scars on his face and chin. After he rinsed out and replaced his razor, he turned and inspected the silicone bandage on his back.

He finished changing and collecting his things, and drove his truck to the gym on base, using his staff ID to let himself into the deserted facility. The pool area was dim and quiet, only broken by the sounds of his footfalls, and the weight of his bag hitting the bench that lined one of the walls. He quickly disrobed save for his swim trunks, and then used the stairs to submerge himself into the pool. Letting out a slow breath, he closed his eyes and let himself sink under the surface of the water. The rush of silence filled his head and for a moment he just let himself float and absorb the stillness. He stayed under the water for two minutes before the images and memories started to pierce the edges of his consciousness. Pushing up he surfaced and began to cut through the water, letting the routine of his strokes and kicks drown out the war in his head.

He had an outpatient appointment scheduled today, so he wouldn't be starting his day off with his trainees as usual. After showering in the locker room and donning a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt he headed to the local diner to have some breakfast and pass some time until the medical facility opened. The waitress was sure to bring him a full jug of coffee and a cup when he took his seat, but today, he couldn't touch it. A quick remembrance of the ribbons of blood spilling out of the carafe had him request a glass of water instead.

As much as he tried to waste time at the diner, he was still thirty minutes early for his appointment. Sitting stiffly in the waiting room he paid halfhearted attention to the morning talk show that was broadcasting on the television mounted in the corner and instead began analyzing the room. One entrance, two windows, twenty-two chairs, one coffee table, three steel magazine racks mounted to the walls, and the TV. The chairs and table were all composed of cheap composite instead of real wood, so if he needed to take cover the best bet would probably be to rip a magazine rack from the wall to use as a shield. Or maybe jump through the sliding window to duck under the reception desk. He studied the fire exit map of the office's interior hanging on the wall as he calculated what his escape would be, and how he would manage to liberate the three civilians working behind the divider if he needed to exit through the -

The interior door to the waiting room opened to reveal a technician dressed in pale blue scrubs.

"Lieutenant? If you would just follow me sir."

Wiping his clammy palms on his sweats he rose and followed the technician back into the small exam room adjacent to the MRI.

"Same as usual, sir. Just your blood pressure and temperature and then we can get started. I trust your clothing is free of any metal so we can forego the use of the gown?"

He nodded his affirmative to the tech, who smiled slightly and made some notations in his chart before moving about the small room to retrieve the thermometer and cuff to complete the initial assessment. After removing his watch and handing it over with his wallet and cell phone to the tech he dutifully followed into the next room and lay down on the cold, slick table of the MRI. After being strapped in and the imaging started, he let his mind drift over the early stages of his dream, trying to recall and savor the peaceful beginning. Being on the boat. The brilliance of the sunshine reflecting on the water. The comfort of Charlotte, and the rough sound of his brother's sleep heavy voice.

_Blood. Glass flying. The bite of the debris as it embedded into his arms and face…_

The table moving tore him out of his horrific recollection, and as he emerged from the claustrophobic tube he was met with the smiling face of the technician.

"We're all done here. Lets get you back to the room so I can process the results. Oh, and I believe you missed a call while you were in there." The tech handed him back his belongings, and sure enough, the display was showing a missed call and a voicemail. Once the tech had escorted him back to the exam room and left him to his own devices he flipped open the phone and checked the incoming number. It was nothing he recognized so he hit the button to dial his voicemail instead. The message made the breath freeze in his lungs.

_"This is Deputy Bohnyak of the New Hampshire State Police. I'm calling on behalf of Peter and Charlotte Whitlock. I'm afraid there has been an accident. If you could call me immediately when you get this message…"_

_-tbc_

Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

_"Come on, you little pussy! Jump!"_

_The taunt from the water made him smile as he climbed to the bow, making sure he didn't slip on the slick wet surface of the boat._

_"May I remind you that I'm technically only 18 months younger than you, and an inch taller. If anyone's anything is little, its yours!"_

_"Maybe you need to come out here and show me how big a man you are, then. I must be so old my memory is slipping. All I seem to remember is you always being a little shit!"_

_He continued his approach as Peter kept taunting him, climbing over the rails and curling his feet over the lip of the bow. The boat rocked slightly and he just leaned against the railing and let himself move with the movement as he judged the distance to his brother. _

_"Come on, Lieutenant, we ain't got all day! Just jump already!"_

_With one solid push he launched himself towards the annoying voice in the water and curled his legs to his chest to execute a cannonball he hoped would make a satisfying enough splash that it filled his sibling's mouth with water to shut him up for a minute. When he surfaced from under the water, Peter was still coughing and spluttering, and he let out a bark of laughter._

_"Maybe if you kept your mouth shut more often you wouldn't always be in danger of drowning."_

_"Well, maybe if my little shit of a brother wasn't such a little shit all the time I wouldn't need to keep saying shit about him." Peter gave him a mischievous grin before sluicing his arm through the water to send large splash in his direction. I was a full on water fight after that, with the two of them splashing and wrestling each other while they tread water. At least until Charlotte's shrill whistle from the deck of the boat caught their attention._

_"Lunch is ready you two meatheads!" she called affectionately, which sent both brothers swimming for the direction of the boat. Scaling the small ladder to the swim platform, Peter grabbed ahold of his leg just as he was swinging the other over the stern of the boat. Caught off-balance he found himself toppling back into the water, and came up spluttering to see his brother laughing uproariously at him. He quickly scaled up the ladder and jumped on deck to grab up Peter in a head lock, and the two wrestled as they laughed, both slipping and struggling to maintain grip on the wet surface of the boat. Finally gaining an advantage, he swept up his brother's legs and flung him overboard, relishing in the surprised shout Peter emitted right before crashing into the water._

_"See? That right there is definitely a shit thing to do to your brother!" the voice called out immediately after surfacing from under the water._

_"Yeah? You asked for it!" he shot back, grinning victoriously. "And like I said before, you need to clean up your vocabulary before you rub off on my niece or nephew with all that trash talk coming out of your mouth!"_

_"Maybe you need to come try and make me!"_

_He needed no further encouragement. He hopped up onto the side of the boat, again curling his toes over the edge to brace himself before jumping. But instead of flying off the side towards Peter, he found himself being launched through the air at a mind numbing speed. His surroundings speeding by in a blur of colors and distorted shapes. He seemed to accelerate through the air, headed straight for the water when he realized with sudden clarity that his destination had morphed into a lake of broken glass. He tried to pull back his body on sheer instinct, and at the last minute threw up his arms in front of his face before impact._

. . . . .

The hospital waiting room in the emergency department was making him want to crawl out of his skin. The sudden movement of the sliding doors that emitted every fresh wave of people seeking treatment, the cries and painful whimpering of those waiting to be seen, and the muted noise of the hospital equipment coming in through the double doors to his left, were all combining to set his nerves on edge. He felt completely exposed and vulnerable in his simple sweatpants and t-shirt, and longed for the added comfort a layer of jeans and jacket would bring. He fiddled with his phone as he tried to concentrate on a feeling of calm, the face snapping open and shut in a rapid staccato as it revealed the true state of his inner turmoil. Just as he rose to go find a vending machine or a bathroom or _any_ destination that would grant him a small distraction of walking, he spotted a nurse with clipboard enter the waiting room and scan the occupants as if looking for someone. He wasn't sure how he knew she was looking for him, but he stilled as her searching eyes swept the room and then settled on his. He found himself standing before her before he consciously thought about moving in her direction.

"Are you here for the Whitlocks, sir?" she asked him in a soothing voice.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm Jasper Whitlock. Do you have any word about my bro-" she cut him off with a slight shake of her head.

"Come with me, Mr. Whitlock. I don't have any word on Peter, but I do have someone I think you would like to meet."

He wordlessly followed her into the elevator as she pushed the button for the correct floor, and felt uneasiness skitter over his skin when the doors slid shut and the elevator shifted into motion. When they stepped off at their destination, he could see the bright mural paintings on the walls of flowers and butterflies, and a heavy feeling settled into his belly. He stumbled after the nurse as she stepped briskly down the hall, but when they rounded the corner and he saw the large letters above the sliding glass doors that said NICU, all the pressure building within him was let loose in a choked "_STOP!_"

Startled, the nurse turned to look at him and he forced the words out in a hoarse torrent.

"She – I can't – where's Charlotte? – Not me. I can't – Not without her. Not me. Not _me_." He realized he was trembling and shaking like a leaf in high wind, and the nurse approached him cautiously, shushing him quietly like he might be one of the babies in the incubators behind the glass walls they were approaching.

"Mrs. Whitlock is still in surgery. She had complications with some internal bleeding. The labor had already progressed before she arrived to the hospital, so we decided the best course of action was to take the baby. He's 31 weeks, so that's only considered moderately preterm. He needs the use of a CPAP to help his breathing, and he's on a feeding tube and we'll be inserting a PICC line later today, but he's doing remarkably well considering his start. Mrs. Whitlock most likely won't be able to see him for a few days, so we were thinking it would give her some peace of mind if you were to stay with him until she's out of surgery."

His mind was spinning. The baby was here. There was no ma to hold him, and his pa was still in surgery that was so complicated they couldn't even tell Jasper what his chances of survival were, let alone recovery. This is not how it was supposed to be. He had imagined a call in the middle of the night with a frantic brother on the other end announcing they were off to the hospital. A text sent off happily showing a swaddled infant with happy stats and a name tacked on. A leisurely drive to the hospital with flowers and balloons and a maybe a 6 pack of wine coolers for Char as a gag gift.

Char.

_Charlotte._

She would want Jasper in there. She would want him to man up and go in and protect her baby until she could take over. And then what the nurse had said fully took wings in his brain. _He._ It was a boy. Peter would be thrilled. If Peter would even –

No. he couldn't think like that. Focus on the baby. He knew the nurse was right. If he was to look Char in the eyes after she woke up from surgery, he better have a full report. Weight, height, hell, he should remember to snap a few pictures with his phone.

The nurse had waited quietly while he processed, and looked slightly relieved as he pulled himself together with a swipe of his hand down his face and a small nod. Squaring his shoulders he followed her through the sliding doors into an antechamber. He handed over his id, was fitted with a bracelet, signed in on a clipboard and then was led over to a robing station where he scrubbed his hands and donned a gown and a mask. The nurse was chatting with other staff as she led him through the rows of incubators and open beds where the babies were kept. Many had colorful pictures and toys and blankets attached to the top and sides. He wondered if he should head down to the gift shop and pick something up for the baby. _His nephew_. And then they were there.

The nurse was talking to Jasper in low tones, explaining what the different machines were and what they were for, but he only listened with half an ear, his eyes transfixed on the baby in tiny miniature before him. There were tubes and wires running all over him, with pieces branching off and electrodes and tape stuck to his pink skin in all kinds of places. He wondered how the whole of it didn't mess up like the strings of Christmas lights he always was forced to untangle every year. The tiny diaper seemed to be as big as the kid himself, dwarfing the infant who was already much too small by Jasper's estimation.

"Would you like to touch him?" The soft question broke through his musings and Jasper nodded, not trusting himself to speak around the knot in his throat. "Babies this young like to have constant pressure instead of stroking or tickling, so you should just hold your hand or finger against him with a light touch."

Clearing his throat, Jasper asked, "Where should I …? There is so much here, I don't want to disturb anything…" he trailed off at a loss but the nurse just smiled.

"His leg is a good spot, or you could cradle his head if you feel up to it. The right side of his body is free of most of the wires, and your hands are so big, I imagine you could hold all of him right in it."

Jasper tentatively pushed his hand inside and cupped the baby from head to hip in one length of his grasp. The small child gave a slight jerk but turned his head towards his touch, and he held his breath until he realized that nothing bad was going to happen. The infant seemed to relax a bit, and he could feel his own tension draining away as he adjusted his hold slightly and eased himself down into the adjacent chair without breaking contact. He felt his eyes travel down the little baby again, looking past the wires and tubes to make out tiny features. He had curly wisps of hair, white gold, just like his parents. His skin was almost an angry shade of pink, but still soft, with delicate perfect fingers complete with miniscule nails and wrinkles. The eyebrows moved while he slept, just like Charlotte when she was dreaming. The nose was also from his mother, but the shape of his face and cut of his chin was all Peter.

"Can I….should I….you know, talk to him?"

The nurse smiled sweetly in response. "Of course you should. Babies are very good at picking out a familiar voice." She paused, then asked "Do you know if they had a name picked out for him?" Jasper shook his head sadly, and the nurse just smiled again. "Well, I'll leave you to get acquainted." She slipped away and He found himself grappling with his thoughts.

_What do I say to a baby?_

Taking a deep breath, he started, "Hey little fella, I'm your Uncle Jasper. Your pa is my brother Peter, and he's going to be the best Daddy you ever had. I know it. He helped raise me since I was 10 years old…" He went on, describing fun things he and Peter had done together, the trouble they had gotten into when they played pranks on the neighbors, and finally the day Charlotte had moved to town. The stories just flowed seamlessly, and Jasper felt himself smiling or holding back laughter as he related many happy times they had all had together. He lost track of time in the little room until another nurse came up behind him.

"Your sister-in-law is out of surgery and being moved to a room. Would you like to see her?"

He would have sprung from his chair if he hadn't remembered the tiny body he was attached to. Nodding briskly, he moved to take his hand away and then hesitated; noticing the way the baby looked to be nestled into his touch. Taking a shaky breath he exhaled slowly and eased his hand away, his muscles relaxing infinitesimally when his nephew didn't flinch or cry from loss of contact.

"I'll be back in a short while, little bit. Just need to go see your Ma," he said quietly. He turned to follow the nurse, but then stopped and fumbled for his cell. "Please, wait, ma`am. Just a sec."  
Turning back he opened his phone and took a few quick snapshots with his phone. Turning back to the nurse he met her kind eyes. "Couldn't go back without some pictures," he explained a bit sheepishly. The nurse just smiled and turned to lead the way.

Jasper glanced back once at the small infant before exiting through the soft hush of the automatic doors.

_-tbc_

Thanks for reading_._


	3. Chapter 3

_The rain was soft and warm. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, imagining it was a lover's hand running through his hair and along his face instead of water from the sky. The heat of the sun still out during the summer shower burned against his right side, and the quiet hiss of the rapidly falling rain lulled his senses and his mind. His memories started to drift, flights of thoughts and imagery fleetingly slipping through his brain, until the rumble of nearby thunder sent his mind spiraling downwards into blackness. _

_He was no longer on the beach, but inside a bombed out stone building. The hot wind buffeting off of the flames was causing the warmth on his side, and he turned to retreat through the debris and find an exit. He fumbled for his comm device strapped to the front of his fatigues, but the handheld was smashed and silent. The haze of smoke and heat was starting to overwhelm him, and he tried to filter the air with his sleeve to no avail. He stumbled towards a dim light, hoping and praying it was sunlight he was headed towards when he began to discern voices over the general noise and confusion. Pushing forward, his lungs burned and his legs felt like lead, but the tightness in his chest evaporated as he spotted the window up ahead. With a renewed sense of strength he rushed forward, spotting the familiar dress of his comrades. He tried to yell as he approached the small square that marked his freedom, but as he drew closer there was suddenly a brilliant flash of light and then the glass was spraying into his face, and biting into the arms he threw up to protect himself._

. . . . .

Charlotte was fidgeting in her sleep. He held her limp hand in his own as he crouched in the stiff chair next to her bed and just waited silently. His eyes moved over her restless form; the usually smooth skin of her face mottled with tiny cuts and the beginnings of a bruise on her cheek, her pale hair still slightly matted and stained with traces of blood. He had half a mind of making a suggestion to the nurses to clean her up a bit, but he wasn't ready to leave her yet in order to flag someone down. She seemed too close to consciousness. He was glad he had seen the baby and made sure he was okay, but there was still little to no word on how Peter was doing. If only Charlotte would wake up, and tell him what to do. He never realized how much he missed her bossiness until it was missing. How much he relied on it.

The buzz of his phone on the window ledge startled him from his reverie, and he quietly slipped out into the hallway so he wouldn't disturb his sister-in-law's slumber. Noting the area code from the base he steeled himself and flipped open the phone.

"Second Lieutenant Whitlock," he answered, as he maneuvered down the hallway into a nearby lounge.

"Lieutenant. This is Colonel Brant. I got your message about needing a leave of absence. I trust everything with you is alright."

"Its my brother and his wife, sir. They were involved in a wreck this morning and its unknown as to how long they will be in the hospital at this point."

"That's very unfortunate. You have my sympathies. I can give you two weeks from today, and I'll call you back in for a reevaluation. Just stop by the base to sign the paperwork by Thursday."

"Thank you, sir."

"Best wishes for your family, Lieutenant."

Jasper flipped the phone closed and rested his head back against the wall for a moment. He felt the small whispers of heat start to streak up his spine and mentally calculated how long it had been since his last dose of medication. He had some spares in the glovebox of his car, but nothing that would tide him over a prolonged stay. He would either need to take a trip home or somehow find a way to get a nearby pharmacy to refill his prescription. He shoved the thoughts away for later. Gathering his strength he made his way back down the hall. His pace quickened as he noticed the small flurry of activity outside Charlotte's room. Drawing closer he could make out her frantic questioning over the noise of the general confusion inside.

"My baby!"

"Ma'am. Just relax, now. I need you to just lay back-"

"What happened to my baby?"

"Mrs. Whitlock, you just need to calm down and—"

" Not my baby! _Where is my baby?_"

Pushing into the throng of nurses trying to restrain her, he rushed to Charlotte's bed and hauled her up into his arms as best he could without jostling her injuries. Pain streaked down his spine like a lightning bolt but he just blocked it out and focused on his sister in law. It only took her a moment to recognize him before she dug her nails into his shoulders and broke down with a soft keening sound, her tears flooding down his neck and soaking into his shirt.

"Ssh, ssh, there momma. Your baby is alright. The baby is okay. I've seen him. I held him. He's the best damn nephew an uncle could ask for."

He felt her breath hitch and freeze when she finally heard him, and he quickly flipped open his phone to show her the photo of his nephew he had already set as his wallpaper.

"Here, Char-doll. Here's a picture of your little man."

Charlotte turned in his arms and looked at the screen almost disbelievingly. He quickly brought up the rest of the photos, and she reached with a trembling hand to take the phone and scroll through them, one by one. Her breath still hitched and hiccupped, and the tears were a constant flow down her face, but she was immediately calmer and quieter, and the nurses quickly took advantage of the distraction to take some vitals and ask some questions. Jasper never strayed from his seat on the side of her bed.

"It's a boy," she whispered softly in wonder, after the nurses had retreated from the room to leave Jasper and Charlotte alone. Her finger traced his red face on the screen. "We have a son. What did Peter say when you told him?"

Charlotte turned to look at him when he didn't respond, and it felt like her eyes could see right through him.

"Jasper?"

He felt his stomach clench the moment before she asked the dreaded question.

"Jasper? _Where's Peter?"_

_-tbc_

Thanks for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

_He had to pee. The head was nothing more than a chemical commode housed under a cushion right next to his sleeping sister in law, though, and he just couldn't fathom sitting there with her face mere inches from his bare ass. Over the side of the deck was his best option. He tried to make his way out of the cabin as stealthily and silently as possible, which was no small feat when every shift in his weight was magnified by the rocking of the boat. _

_After relieving himself, he braced his arms on the side of the stern and leaned his weight forward, just trying to absorb the tranquility of the night. The soft mist curled over the still waters, only broken up by the steady light near Loon Island winking in the distance. Moist air seemed to creep up his bare back and curve over his arms, leaving goosebumps along its path. The stillness was heavy, and promising. Almost like a separate entity waiting behind him to strike. He dropped his head forward and closed his eyes, trying to absorb the peace around him that seemed so elusively out of reach, but his body remained tense and ready to spring. He tried just focusing on the sound of his breath rushing in and out of his chest but there was a soft rustle of air behind him that sent the hair on the back of his neck prickling with awareness. He opened his eyes and spun around, completely disoriented as his surroundings had changed completely. He was no longer on the deck of a boat in the middle of a lake, but instead in a dark void with the soft sounds of lapping water coming from behind him. His eyes strained in the darkness to make out some recognizable figure that could explain his feeling of being watched. He took a tentative step forward and then looked down abruptly as he heard the sound of glass crushing beneath his feet. Suddenly the stillness was broken by a rushing sound; the shrill, unmistakable, whine of a missile tearing through the air and honing in on his position. And then everything around him exploded._

. . . . .

Jasper awakened with a jerk at the shrill ring of the phone and sent water sloshing over the sides of the tub and onto the floor. He let out a strangled cry as the movement ripped a fresh streak of fire down his back, and the coolness of the water slapped at his chest. Biting back the pain he reached a dripping hand out and fumbled with the cell on its unceremonious perch on the toilet lid.

"Yeah?" he answered with a clipped breath.

"Have I reached Jasper Whitlock?" the polished voice on the other end responded.

"Sorry, yes. Speaking."

"Mr. Whitlock, I'm Dr. Winslow and I'm the attending for your brother, Peter. I was just calling to let you know that he's out of surgery now. We should be moving him to a room in the ICU, and then reassessing his status in about 15-20 hours, depending on how he fares over that time."

The release of breath from Jasper was audible over the phone as he pressed his fingers to his eyes to keep back the tears.

"How…how is he?" he managed to croak out around the rapidly building thickness in his throat.

"He had extensive internal injuries, and a ruptured spleen, which we removed. His leg was severely crushed, though, and was what caused most of the complications. He's currently sedated to keep movement to a minimum. If we can keep him clear of infections for the next 48 hours its highly likely we can wean him from the sedatives and then assess if there was any permanent damage from his head trauma. His scans showed some cerebral contusions and lacerations, but no bleeding, so I'm cautiously optimistic that he won't have any significant brain injuries. But I won't know for certain until we can wake him up and have a neurological exam done."

The doctor paused as Jasper's rapidly quickening breath carried over the mouthpiece. Finally swallowing back a sob he responded, "Is there anything else I need to know?"

"There are more particulars about his treatment options that we need to review, but those will need to wait until we have some idea of how he's faring during the recovery. I just wanted to know if you had any questions for me."

"No. Nothing I can think of at this time."

"Alright, then. I'll be in after noon tomorrow if you find you need to discuss anything."

"Thank you. Thank you, doctor."

"Have a good night, Mr. Whitlock."

_Night?_ Jasper thought to himself as he snapped the phone shut and looked at the display. The time read 7:34pm. He dropped the phone back onto the toilet lid and scrubbed his hands over his face. He remembered leaving the hospital around one and managing to make it back to his apartment a little after four pm. That meant accounting for his reheated dinner and meds, he had been sleeping in the bathtub for over an hour. With one more swipe of his hand over his face and hair he flicked the drain open with his foot and then struggled to stand out of the receding water. His muscles were stiff from lying in the cooled water so long, and his back was a fiery inferno of complaint for the same reason. Finally making it to his shaky feet he cranked the taps for the shower on full blast, and quickly heated up the flow to as hot as he could stand. After thawing out for a few seconds he grabbed the shampoo and made quick work of cleaning himself off and getting out of the tub. Hobbling out to his bedroom he discarded the towel and drew on a pair of track pants and a t-shirt. He quickly grabbed his duffel and removed his swim gear only to repack it with a weeks worth of clothing, his meds and toiletries. He walked through the apartment, stuffing various other items in his bag as he went, and then finally grabbed his keys and turned off the lights.

As he pulled into the driveway of Peter and Charlotte's house, he realized he couldn't really recall the drive he had just taken to get there. He studied the darkened home and the thought crossed his mind that it looked asleep- like its homeowners. Almost as if he could just go up and knock on the door and be greeted by a perturbed brother with sleep disheveled hair. The last thought made his insides ache as he remembered the doctor's description of Peter's condition. He finally wrenched his door open and grabbed his duffel before heading up the walkway to the house and letting himself in with his spare key.

The inside fit right in with his sleeping metaphor. A pair of slippers were scattered in the entryway, a hooded sweatshirt lay over the back of the couch, and a partially full glass of water sat forgotten on an end table. It was a house ready to wake up again in the morning and pick right up where everything left off. Setting his bag down on the couch he picked up the glass of abandoned water and walked through the house to assess its disarray.

Peter and Charlotte's bedroom was the worst, with the bed unmade and clothes strewn on top of it. Jasper was sure they had left in a hurry, because otherwise Charlotte would have made the bed. The next bedroom was for the baby. Jasper barely set a foot inside lest he mar the perfect cleanliness. It was done up in a soft green and white, with pastel animals and brown accents. Jasper smiled as he remembered the one Skype call he had with his brother while overseas, where Peter was griping over paint swatches. Charlotte was insisting that her husband should help choose the color, and Peter kept insisting they all looked the same to him and that he couldn't tell the difference. Even over the grainy live feed Jasper could discern a slight hue variation between the three paint chips. Peter had not been amused. Looking around the prepared space now, he tried to imagine his tiny little nephew living in here. Char rocking him in the corner, and Peter holding him up on his shoulder while he walked him back and forth. But the fantasy was thin and fleeting. With a heavy sigh, he flicked the light off again and closed the door.

The last room was 'his' room, as Charlotte always insisted. Even when Peter and Charlotte initially moved into their apartment, Charlotte had been adamant they have an extra bedroom for Jasper so he always had a place to call home. He opened the door to see the familiar full size bed and small chest of drawers with framed pictures of Jasper and Peter and their parents scattered on top. A small computer desk and Charlotte's sewing machine were set up in the opposite end of the room so that Jasper couldn't argue that keeping a room for him was a complete waste.

Retracing his steps down the hall, Jasper emptied the glass of water in the partially full sink and then retrieved his bag from the living room and deposited it onto his bed. His clothes were quickly unpacked and put away, and the duffel stashed in the closet. He then went to the master bedroom and picked up the strewn clothes and made the bed. He continued a circuit through the house, cleaning up and putting things to rights. Afterwards he locked up the house and went through his nightly routine. Sitting on his bed he swallowed his evening meds and then picked up his phone and dialed the hospital to check in at the nurse's station. Everyone's status was stable and unchanged, so Jasper eased under the sheets and tried to relax his mind while the pills took effect. As his thoughts wandered to his family in the hospital, he felt a strange warmth pooling next to his cheek, and it took him a moment to realize he was crying. Roughly swiping at his cheeks he rolled over and buried his head in his pillow and willed himself to sleep.

_-tbc_

Thanks for reading


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: So, so sorry for the delay. I just want to say that the flu sucks. Especially when you're manning a family of five. Without further ado…**

* * *

_He was back inside the truck. He could feel the heat and pressure of his comrades pressed in next to him as the vehicle rumbled over the uneven terrain. The hum of the engine was a constant buzz of noise that drowned out most of the conversation around him, but his eyes met and held with Meyers across from him. The fellow soldier was as close to a brother as he had on this side of the world, as evidenced by the silent conversation they engaged in._

_'You okay?' Meyers questioned with a raise of his eyebrows._

_Jasper squinted and shrugged, conveying his unease._

_Meyers tapped two fingers to his chest and gave a thumbs down, code for, 'Do you have a bad feeling about his?'_

_Jasper squeezed his eyes shut and nodded minutely, hating to show any inkling of weakness, but loathing the feeling of dread he had in his gut about this mission even more._

_Meyers just extended his closed fist for Jasper to bump with his own. 'Have faith, brother.'_

_The movement did little to settle his nerves, but Jasper tried to relax and concentrate on the task at hand. The convoy slowed to a rolling stop and all the men inside quieted down and shifted restlessly, waiting for their commands. The flap at the back of the truck flipped open, but instead of the Corporal appearing like he expected, the opening released a ball of hot flame and fire into the small chamber. Shielding his face with his arms, he felt the hot cinders bite into his skin and heard the shouts and screams of his comrades as the enclosure melted away and he was left exposed in the sand; the spray of shrapnel and glass barraging him as he futilely looked for cover that wasn't there._

. . . . .

Jasper wasn't sure at first if the sound he heard was a knock on the door or not, but as he headed over with his coffee cup to investigate the steady staccato sounded again. He opened the entry to find himself face to face with a silver haired older woman holding a small wriggling ball of fur in her arms. She didn't give him a chance to speak before she launched into her greeting.

"Oh, you must be Peter's brother! I was just telling my Harold that I was sure I saw someone moving around in the house last night. I heard about the accident and just wanted to check and make sure everything was alright."

"Yes, Ma'am. I'm Jasper. Charlotte is recovering, and my brother came out of surgery yesterday evening. You'll have to excuse me, though, you have me at a disadvantage. I'm afraid I don't know your name."

"Yes, of course. How rude of me. I'm sorry. My name is Muriel, I live across the street with Harold, my husband, and little Sweet Pea here." She waved the paw of the still struggling terrier, and Jasper offered a hand to the tiny nose only to be rewarded with enthusiastic licks to his fingers.

"Is the baby alright? When we heard the news I was so scared for them, so when I saw someone home last night I was ready to rush right over. I just didn't want to intrude because of the late hour."  
Jasper met her eyes with a soft smile.

"I have a nephew. Riley Thaddaus Whitlock." At her exclaim of joy he made a quick decision. "Would you care to step in for a moment? I have some pictures on my cell phone."

"Oh, I'd love to!" Muriel responded as she tightened her hold on Sweet Pea and stepped past him into the house. Jasper quickly retrieved his phone from the kitchen table and brought up the pictures of his nephew. The neighbor made a little sound of delight as she saw them.

"Riley means 'valiant', and Thaddaus is after our father" Jasper explained as she scrolled through the images.

"Oh, the little angel. He's so tiny. Well, you tell Charlotte I said hello, and let me know if you need anything. I'll have to get something for the baby, now that we know it's a _he_. I'm so glad you're here Jasper. I'll check back in tomorrow."

Jasper tried to bite back his amused smile as Muriel chatted her way to the door and let herself out. Draining his coffee he checked his phone and decided he might as well head to the hospital. Turning he went to retrieve a bag he had packed of things for Charlotte and his nephew.

Only an hour later, Jasper felt almost as if this morning had been another lifetime ago. After checking in on Charlotte and finding her occupied with trying to fight her way into the NICU to hold her son, he was standing before the doors of the ICU at his sister-in-law's direct order. She had been given the same report on Peter that Jasper had, but wasn't permitted to visit him either in her injured state, so the weight of finding out how his brother was doing fell to him. Taking a deep breath that couldn't quite settle the knot in his stomach he stepped forward and passed through the threshold to the admittance desk. The graying head of a neatly dressed woman popped up at the sound of the automatic doors opening, and Jasper was met with an appraising glance. A thought flitted through his head that he was about to be reprimanded for an overdue library book, before she spoke and claimed his attention.

"Patient name you're here to see," she asked him bluntly, fingers poised over her keyboard.

"Peter Whitlock, ma'am."

"Your name and relation?" she queried again amidst the clatter of her fingers against the computer keys.

"I'm Jasper Whitlock. His brother," he replied, while shifting to extract his wallet from his back pocket to procure his i.d.

She took the offered card from him and slid it through a small scanner next to her, then produced a clipboard and pen.

"You'll need to sign in here, name and time," she said briskly, and then efficiently prepared him a visitor's pass and returned his license. Producing a different paper and a plastic bag, she slid them towards him. "This is the release for his personal effects that he had upon arriving. Just review the list with the items in the bag and sign at the bottom if everything is satisfactory."

Jasper complied as if on auto pilot, and finally signed in and burdened with his brother's things the woman pointed him to the direction of Peter's assigned room.

"I'll buzz his nurse down to meet you," she assured him as his heavy steps started on the course she indicated. His trepidation rose with every stride, and he could feel the clammy moisture collecting in his hand where it gripped the plastic bag filled with Peter's personal effects. Jasper felt himself splitting into two planes of consciousness. A part of him was on high alert, seeking out every window, door, and route of escape. Every beep of a monitor, every hiss of a ventilator, was noted and catalogued and filed away for further consideration. The adrenaline that started leaching into his system started a small static hum into his ears. The sub layer was fortifying himself. His feelings were frozen in a comfortable numbness, singularly detached from who and what he was about to see. As he slowed to a stop before the numbered door assigned to Peter, he was met with a small, energetic nurse dressed in pink scrubs with a shock of short black hair. The first sign that his defenses were faulty was when she gifted him with a brilliant smile and awareness pierced through the fog straight to his gut.

"Hi! My name is Alice. I'm the nurse assigned to Peter this shift."

"Jasper Whitlock, ma'am. Peter's brother." Jasper fought the impulse to wipe his clammy hand on his jeans before offering it to the nurse. She merely accepted it with a squeeze to his fingers before turning and pushing through the door and indicating he should follow her.

The sight before him completely overwhelmed his senses. The body lying in the bed had little resemblance to the tall cocky brother of his memory. His brain flipped through the photo Rolodex in his mind, trying to find any image that would compare to this being at all and came up lacking. The bruised body in the bed, hooked up to a ventilator, with tubes and wires crisscrossing his extremities, and a casted leg forming an unsightly bulge under the covers, was a stranger to him. The static hum that had accompanied him during the walk to the room was now growing into a deafening buzz that was drowning out everything Nurse Alice was saying to him. His scalp prickled, and he became hyper attuned to the change in airflow he could feel from around the room. His heart rate sped up, and Jasper could feel sweat beading up on his forehead. The feeling of being watched skittered over his skin and he stilled as time seemed to slow. He vaguely recognized the face of the nurse moving closer to him, and then he blinked and he was on the other side of the room, with his back next to the window. The route of escape through the door was blocked with two more people and his brow furrowed momentarily as he briefly processed that he couldn't recall them coming in. Their mouths moved in familiar shapes but he couldn't hear the words. Instead he was focused on their expressions.  
Fear.  
Worry.

_Danger.  
_  
There was danger in this room. His heart pounded even louder, the rush of blood roaring in his ears. He felt his stance brace for combat, and his fingers clench into fists. The feeling of a smooth weight tapping against his leg split his focus for a moment and he looked down, startled. The plastic bag of personal effects swung innocuously against his calf with a name lettered in stark black marker; "Peter Whitlock."

_Peter Whitlock. _

His gaze cut to the figure lying in the bed.

_My brother. Peter._

He sucked in a choked breath, and with it came clarity and his hearing, the voices of the people in the room finally coming through like tuning in on a radio frequency.

"Jasper? Mr. Whitlock? Are you alright?" He turned to the voice. Nurse Alice, her eyes still shimmering with fear.

_Fear. There was danger here._

And then the realization hit him like a punch to the gut. _He_ was the danger. Jasper stumbled and fell to his knees. The bite of his kneecaps hitting the tile and the jar of pain up his back never even registered until he was braced up by his palms. Crouched over and panting on the floor he just kept whispering over and over.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. So sorry."

_-tbc_

Thank you for reading!


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